#goldsmith hammer

[nordfjording]

Gender: "the village smith", is pretty damn cool

JUST THIS WEEK i had someone meadering insecurely into the shop going "i'm lookin for... uh... the goldsmith?"

and i got to go

"that's me. i am the goldsmith."

and it was pretty cool ngl

[whats-in-a-sentence]

Next moment (how those dwarfs loved their work!) the fire was blazing, the bellows were roaring, the gold was melting, the hammers were clinking. Two Moles, whom Aslan had set to dig (which was what they liked best) earlier in the day, poured out a pile of precious stones at the dwarfs' feet.

"The Chronicles of Narnia: The Magician's Nephew" - C. S. Lewis

[vintage1981]

The Life and Deaths of Christopher Lee Kickstarts Deluxe Blu-ray Edition

The Life and Deaths of Christopher Lee mixes traditional documentary with a dash of fantasy. It is narrated by Christopher Lee himself... in the form of an elaborate marionette, voiced by Peter Serafinowicz. The marionette was custom designed and built by Arch Model Studios, who made all of the puppets for Wes Anderson's Fantastic Mr. Fox, Isle of Dogs and Asteroid City and Tim Burton's Frankenweenie. 

The film combines new, exclusive interviews with filmmakers, including Peter Jackson, John Landis and Joe Dante, friends and family members with animated flights of fantasy from a wide variety of artists including 2000AD's Simon Coleby, award winning stop-motion animator Astrid Goldsmith and the legendary illustrator Dave McKean who directed, scored and animated a whole chapter of the film himself. 

Spanning eight decades and almost three hundred films, Christopher Lee became famous for his iconic performance as Dracula. But he was so much more than just the Hammer Horror roles he is so fondly remembered for. His career took him from uncredited parts in 1950s swashbucklers with Errol Flynn, through famous performances in 007 and Star Wars films, cult hits like The Wicker Man and The Return of Captain Invincible, right up to a lead role in cinema's biggest event - The Lord of the Rings trilogy. Along the way, he worked with everyone from Orson Welles to Mario Bava, Jess Franco, Tim Burton, Martin Scorsese and Steven Spielberg. 

Yet his story is so much richer than just his career. Lee was born into Italian aristocracy, with a military career shrouded in secrecy and kept his private life closely guarded. Some of his ventures and adventures seem highly improbable yet, as the film reveals, he often found himself in unexpected situations - he witnessed the last ever death by guillotine, was cousins with 007 creator Ian Fleming, he met Tolkien, performed with the classic Saturday Night Live line-up, was a friend and neighbour of Boris Karloff, he was the oldest person to ever get on the Billboard music charts (with his own Heavy Metal album), was an expert knife thrower, professional opera singer and a Nazi hunter. And somehow, he also managed to appear in almost 300 films of both the highest and lowest quality imaginable. 

The film is finished and producers Jon Spira and Hank Starrs want to share it with you by producing a top quality Blu-Ray with great extra features and a really amazing LIMITED/NUMBERED EDITION COFFIN-SHAPED BOX SET, full of goodies, which will look killer on the shelf of any discerning cineaste. The jewel in the crown of this box-set will be a 3D 'death mask' of Christopher Lee designed and produced by Arch Model Studio exclusively for this set. They also want to host some screenings - both online and in real cinemas - so we can all experience it together and you can get to meet some of the people behind it.

Making this film has been a fascinating journey - producers excavated the British Film Institute archives where they hold Lee's personal collection of scrapbooks detailing his career in his own hand, been given access to personal photos from the family archive, they met and interviewed his closest friends and family from all over the world and we've worked with some incredible artists, puppeteers, animators, musicians and filmmakers to bring his story to the screen in the most cinematic way. Whether you're a fan of Horror, Star Wars, Lord of the Rings or just cinema history in general, we think you'll be delighted by this revealing and eclectic documentary.

Risks and challenges

The film is fully edited and ready to go. This Kickstarter is to fund the final bits of post-production and the production of a fantastic Blu-ray and deluxe collectors edition box set as we're all still committed to physical media. Please note that all illustrations of rewards are designs/prototype images. The final items might differ - we hope they'll actually be better.

[octuscle]

Teens work out free all Summer

Jakob was done. The day had been exhausting. And somehow he couldn't cope with two or three exhausting days in a row as well as he used to. He was now 27 years old, his 28th birthday was only a few weeks away and the days when Jakob had been described as sporty were long gone. Even during his studies, he had spent less time at the gym or in the swimming pool than when he was at school and the slight tummy bulge with which he had accepted his master's degree and started his career had developed into a veritable paunch. Climbing stairs? Only in an emergency… Walking or cycling? What were cabs for… Jakob was done and he knew why.

It was trade fair in the city. The last one before the summer break. The hotels were full, you couldn't get a table in the restaurants and there were no cabs to be had either. So Jacob bit the bullet and walked to the nearest bus stop. Sweat was pouring down his forehead. And there he saw this sign: “Teens Workout Free All Summer”. Sure, he was no longer a teen. But he also earned enough money to afford a gym. All he had to do was sign up. Just for the summer. Since he didn't have any school-age children, he didn't have his vacation until mid-September. What was the worst that could happen? He could lose a few kilos and cut a better figure in the late summer sun on the Croatian coast. “I'll sign up first thing tomorrow,” Jacob thought to himself. And then it hit him. "Shit, don't keep putting it off, I'll sign up now. Now and immediately. And if they have a store for gym gear, I'll start training today."

It was hot in the gym. The place was obviously not air-conditioned. It smelled of sweat and sneakers. It smelled like the changing rooms in the schools gym earlier. Loud music blared from the speakers. The reception and training area merged seamlessly. The monotonous sound of people on treadmills and the groaning of people lifting iron was mixed into the booming music, occasionally interrupted by the sound of dumbbells falling into the rack or onto the floor. This was certainly not the kind of gym Jacob wanted to work out in. He was almost on his way out again when the lad behind the counter approached him. “Hi bro! Are you here for our summer offer?” Jacob said that he was here for a membership, yes. But not for the offer. ‘Why not, bro? My name is Liam, by the way. And you are?’ ‘Jacob,’ Jacob introduced himself. ‘Cool thing, bro! Don't worry, we'll get you in shape here.’ Jacob thought for a moment. Of course he would make a fool of himself here among all the beefcakes, but better here in front of people he didn't know than in some stylish gym where customers, colleagues or neighbors would make fun of him.

Liam was already hammering away at his keyboard. “So, your name is Jake. What's next?” “Jacob,” Jacob corrected. “Goldsmith” “Smith, Jake Smith. Your birthday?” Jacob wanted to correct Liam first, but maybe a pseudonym wasn't wrong. “August 12, 1996.” “Bro, I'll put in August 12, 2006,” Liam said with a wink. “Nobody checks here anyway. And I get a commission when I sign contracts for the summer offer.” Address? Jacob was just about to give his address when he thought to himself that he was here anonymously or under a pseudonym. So he gave the address of his parents' house, where they had all lived when he was at school. His parents had sold everything last year and moved to Provence, but as Liam said, no one would probably check it. “Please be so kind,” said Liam. Jacob looked surprised at a flash of light. And a few seconds later, a plastic card came out of the printer. His membership card, his ticket back to a life where climbing stairs wouldn't lead to panting and sweating. “Because it's your birthday in the summer, you get a water bottle and the water flat rate. Do you also want the protein shake flat rate? It's on special offer today. 20 pounds a month, 50 pounds for June, July and August together.” Jacob nodded and asked if he could also buy something to wear here. “That's my lad,” said Liam with a grin. “Get started right away, no hesitation, very good. No, you can't buy anything, but there's a treasure trove at the back. Just take what you need. I'll let Colin know in the meantime, he can show you around and show you everything.

Slightly disgusted, Jacob went to the corner with the lost-and-found treasure trove. It was obviously a source of odour. But it was surprisingly neat. Shoes, shorts, tank tops… Everything was neatly sorted by size. Only the socks were in a big box. It took Jacob a few minutes to find a pair. And while he was looking, he heard a throat clearing behind him. “So you're Jake, the new guy?” Jacob turned around, startled. Behind him stood a mountain of a man. Probably his age. Maybe a few years older. But someone who had never skipped chest or leg days. Never in his life. He obviously didn't take his personal hygiene that seriously. Colin was smelly. Jacob pulled himself together. “Jake, nice to meet you. You must be Colin.” “You can be sure of that! And now stop making a fashion show out of it.” Colin unerringly grabbed a tank top, shorts, shoes and even a matching pair of socks. And a jockstrap. He stuffed everything into a rucksack. Jacob shuddered. “The changing room is over there. Don't look for girls and boys, it's a lads only place here. Hurry up, we should allow two and a half hours for a training session." Jacob was beginning to feel sure he had made a mistake. Okay, at worst he had lost 50 pounds… But it was a mistake.

There were no cubicles in the changing room, no lockers. Things went on open racks. Shoes and bags on benches or on the floor. There was no one around. Only by the sinks was a lad, maybe 16 years old, showing off his enviably fit body in front of the mirror. Jacob sighed. He'd looked something like that when he was 16. He undressed and put on the unwashed clothes that Colin had stuffed into his bag. He looked in the mirror. He looked silly. He was wearing the washed-out clothes of an obviously much more muscular man… The shorts were too tight. The tank top too loose. The socks had holes in them. But at least the shoes fitted. Jacob sighed. And the torture on the dumbbells began.

Colin hadn't given him puppy protection. Colin had worked out with him as if they were training partners. Of course, he had reduced the weights for Jacob. But when Jacob couldn't do any more, he had shouted at him. Four more, three more, two more… Somehow Jacob had always managed the last repetition. The two of them were the last ones in the gym. Liam had already called it a day. Colin gave Jacob a fist bump. “Good training, mate! You've got bite and talent. You'll be something!“ Jacob would have blushed if his head hadn't been glowing anyway. ‘By the way,’ said Colin. ‘Hot water is turned off after 10 p.m. You can take a cold shower. Or…’ ‘I'll take the ’or',” Jacob chastised and grinned. He went into the changing room and packed his clothes from the office into his rucksack. He walked to the bus stop with the last of his strength. The city was full of fairgoers. Some raised their eyebrows in pique. Yes, he had to stink. But he had to get home now. He didn't care about anything else.

When the alarm clock woke him up at 06:00, he felt like everything was gone. He had fallen asleep sitting on his bed. He had just managed to undress. His office clothes were still in his rucksack. His sports kit was scattered on the floor. And he had slept half-sitting, half-asleep on his bed. In a puddle of sperm. Because he had obviously had at least one wet dream. And his morning wood was already standing at attention again. Jacob started to jerk himself off. Damn, did his cock feel good. Jacob smelled his own cold sweat. He smelled male. And he had a hard-on. He had smegma under his foreskin. Just like when he wasn't so serious about personal hygiene at school. He smelled his hand. Damn, that smelled like youth and manhood… And at that moment he came. He cummed all the way up to his chin, even though he had obviously emptied his balls at least once tonight. Shit, he thought to himself, breathing heavily… The training is paying off. As exhausted as I am, I'm more agile than I've been at any point in the last ten years.

Jacob went into the kitchen and stirred protein powder into his cottage cheese. He didn't question where the protein powder and cottage cheese came from. He drank two bottles of water because he felt completely dehydrated. He wolfed down his breakfast and made himself five more scrambled eggs. And another protein shake. Shit, he was starving. And late. He jumped into the shower. He didn't take a really thorough shower. He didn't shave either. He emptied out his rucksack on the floor and stuffed yesterday's clothes, which were still damp with sweat, into it. His bus was leaving in ten minutes. He had to walk. Cardio was never his thing. He was more of a weightlifting man.

He got lots of compliments in the office. He was told he looked fresh. He was told he'd lost weight. He looked younger. But he also got a few unpleasant questions. What was so smelly here. The old rucksack was standing next to his desk. And it stank. Jacob simply ignored the questions about the rucksack. He felt fit and full of energy. For lunch, he had a salad with three turkey breasts. His colleagues looked at him questioningly. “Mass phase,” he said apologetically, chewing with his mouth full.

Today was leg day. Colin had told him that he should allow three hours for warming up, stretching and maybe a bit of fitness training if he was serious. And Jacob was serious. He finished his work very punctually. Unusual for someone who was always the last one. Yes, he was on the verge of promotion, but his fitness was important to him. As soon as he entered, he pulled the access card out of his wallet. He looked at the photo with a grin. He was 23 on it, that was two years ago. What a slim man he had been then… Liam greeted him with a fist bump. Colin could be heard grunting from the chest press throughout the hall. Jacob greeted his bros as he entered the changing room. It was busy. Of course, most of the people here were still at university, unemployed or tradesmen who had already started work at 06:00 in the morning. There were few armchair farters like him here. But that didn't matter to him. Today, all that mattered was the weight on the leg press. And how much protein he could swallow from his flat rate. Protein and the leg press was a toxic combination. But protein farts didn't bother anyone here. They were part of the workout. And when he finally left the gym with Colin at around 11 p.m., there were a lot of protein farts in the air. Neither Colin nor Jacob had been bothered by that during the final cardio workout. Damn it, how could a beefcake like Colin be so limber!

His morning routine was well established. Alarm clock at 05:30. Sit-ups and press-ups. Breakfast, running gear on, run to the office, shower there, and be at his desk by 08:00. Sitting was the new smoking, he hated it. Jake was 22, he had just finished his bachelor's degree and as a trainee he couldn't afford to make any mistakes. His colleagues knew after a few days that he was a fitness junkie. The carefully labeled Tupperware containers spoke for themselves. Jake had to eat something every two hours. His trainer had told him to. Jake had been an ambitious bodybuilder since the age of 16. His tight ass and broad shoulders showed this even when he was wearing a suit. And many of his female colleagues and even some of his male colleagues appreciated the fact that Jake always wore tight and crisp-fitting suits.

This afternoon was going to be an ordeal for Jake. He had promised Liam that he would take over the shift from 21:00. If he wanted to work out properly before then, he had to get off work at 5:00 p.m., 5:30 p.m. at the latest. The meeting went on and on. Jake looked nervously at his mobile again and again. At 5:15 p.m., over an hour later than planned, it was finally over. Jake breathed a sigh of relief. And then his boss asked Jake and two colleagues to stay for the minutes and the upcoming tasks. FUCK! He should have accepted Colin's offer and taken over the management of the gym after graduation. But his tutor at university had convinced him that auditing was his future. Holy shit. Now he'd have to skip cardio training.

05:30. Damn, that was early. But Paul, his roommate, was obviously already awake and seemed to be making breakfast in the kitchen. Yes, Jake was actually disciplined. Otherwise you didn't stand a chance when studying at the sports college. But at least sleep until 06:00 for once, he thought to himself… While he did his burpees to wake up. Paul was Liam's little brother. The two had met at the gym last summer. And Liam and Paul had convinced Jake to study sports economics. He had never regretted his decision. If only because sharing a flat with Paul was a cool thing. The two of them constantly motivated each other. And they also fucked each other from time to time. Hey, tighter asses were hard to find on the whole campus! Today was mostly sports on the timetable. Just one statistics lecture. It wasn't worth changing for that. Jake enjoyed riding his road bike to campus in just shorts and a cut-off tank top. And if the clothes weren't freshly washed, they were at least aired out by the breeze. Of course, the business students sitting in the statistics lecture would get upset about the smelly sports economists again. But hey, Jake already knew the game. It wouldn't be the first time one of these Oxford-shirt-wearing snobs would follow him to the toilet after the lecture and lick his hairy armpits. And it wouldn't be the first time he'd take someone home for a shag or join the gym as a new member. The first was fun, the second earned him a small commission.

“Jake, my darling! It's time to get up!” His mother looked into Jake's teenage room. His bed had already been made. Jake stood behind his mother in sweaty running clothes and quietly went “Boo!” His mother winced. Jake deliberately hugged her tightly so that his sweat made her nightgown damp. “Honey, when did you get up? It's the middle of the night!” Jake replied that he still had body fat to lose before his first amateur competition this weekend. He pulled off his wet running jersey and did a double bicep pose. “Jake, more important than losing body fat would be a shower.” his mother laughed. “Fuck, mom, I'm late. And by the time I've ridden my bike to school, I'll be sweaty again anyway.” “Don't talk back, otherwise there'll be no breakfast.” The threat worked. Jake reluctantly trotted into the shower and his mother prepared his ten-egg omelette.

A poster announcing the national bodybuilding championship hung above the reception desk. With local hero Jake Smith as the favorite in the juniors. You could find those posters everywhere in the neighbourhood. Jake was somehow a local hero. Liam greeted the studio's up-and-coming star with a fist bump. Male rituals. Jake enjoyed that. He wasn't turning 18 for a few days, but here he felt like a full-fledged man. Liam said that ten new members had signed up to the teen-working-out-for-free-in-the-summer promotion last week alone. And eight said they had come to the gym because of Jake's fitness channel. Jake should get in touch with Colin and there would be a special bonus. Hehehe, thought Jake. That could be an extra 50 pounds. Or a shot of extra protein from Colin's cock. With a bit of luck, both. But Jake wasn't greedy. Either would be enough for him.

Inspiration by @olivierlefou, pic by @ki-kink

[uldahstreetrat]

glamtober - 26. hand or land

I think I've done a good few glams for Q'ihnn's gathering jobs this month, so I wanted to show one off for his main crafting: goldsmith! also I'm actually in love with these bracelets right now

glamour details!

Gemfiend's Vest - Jet Black Leonhard Gloves - Jet Black Craftsman's Leather Trousers - Jet Black Craftsman's Leather Shoes - Jet Black Black Star Bracelets of Crafting Ra'Kaznar Lapidary Hammer

[apoemaday]

Sailing to Byzantium

by W.B. Yeats

That is no country for old men. The young In one another’s arms, birds in the trees –Those dying generations–at their song, The salmon‐falls, the mackerel‐crowded seas, Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long Whatever is begotten, born, and dies. Caught in that sensual music all neglect Monuments of unageing intellect. An aged man is but a paltry thing, A tattered coat upon a stick, unless Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing For every tatter in its mortal dress, Nor is there singing school but studying Monuments of its own magnificence; And therefore I have sailed the seas and come To the holy city of Byzantium. O sages standing in God’s holy fire As in the gold mosaic of a wall, Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre, And be the singing‐masters of my soul. Consume my heart away; sick with desire And fastened to a dying animal It knows not what it is; and gather me Into the artifice of eternity. Once out of nature I shall never take My bodily form from any natural thing, But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make Of hammered gold and gold enamelling To keep a drowsy Emperor awake; Or set upon a golden bough to sing To lords and ladies of Byzantium Of what is past, or passing, or to come.

[seiya-starsniper]

For the angst prompt list: “I’m sorry, have we met?”

Oh I absolutely ADORE this particular prompt, I'm so glad you've picked it. I'd previously done a fill for it [here], but this one's an entirely different premise all on its own, I hope you enjoy it!

angst prompts list

cw: memory loss -----

The man standing across the bar is dangerous.

Rob’s gained an appreciation for dangerous creatures, ever since he woke up in the middle of what was effectively the aftermath of a bloodbath, with no memory of who he was or how he got there. All he knew was that something bad had happened, and somehow, he’d survived it.

He’d fled London shortly after, when he’d discovered that while he didn’t know who he was, it seemed other more powerful and dangerous creatures did. Rob realized fairly quickly that if he had any hope of living a normal life, leaving the continent was probably the best course of action. He’d barely had time to investigate the life he’d had beforehand, only knowing that his captors had tracked him down under the name Robert Goldsmith.

That had been over 20 years ago. Rob hasn’t aged a day since then, and he’s also unfortunately never been able to fully shake attracting the supernatural. There’s something about him, the demons and the fae and the vampires tell him. Something old, something covetous. Rob knew he was older than he looked, he could feel his age in his bones, and one too many close calls with death all but proved he was some sort of immortal.

And now he’s caught the scent of something even older than him. The man (no, he’s not a man, he only wears the skin of a man) is stunningly beautiful, with wild dark hair and eyes bluer than the sky. If Rob didn’t know any better, he’d swear the man was an elf or some other type of fae, but no. He’s older than that. More powerful than that.

An angel, perhaps? He’s certainly beautiful enough to be one. Rob’s only heard rumors of their existence, but he’s also heard looking upon them would burn your eyeballs right out of their sockets. He tries not to appear wary and guarded as the creature locks eyes with him, but he can’t help but let out a small gasp, heart thundering in his chest, as the man-shaped being begins to approach his table. 

“Hob Gadling,” the creature addresses him. “I have been searching for you.”

The declaration hit Rob like a hammer to the face. Something inside him is howling, yes, that is me, I am Hob, and it’s almost as terrifying a feeling as when he first woke up in that bloodied basement, his memories wiped clean from his mind. Somehow this creature knows him, not in the way the others have known of him, but actually knows who he was before his memories were stolen.

“I’m sorry,” Rob (no, not Rob, he is Hob) says, trying hard to keep his voice as light as possible, even as he feels his entire world shift sideways. “Have we met before?”

The creature rears back as if Hob had slapped him across the face. His pained expression grips something in Hob’s heart, something old, something achingly familiar. Hob knows then, in this exact moment, that this creature is something precious to him. A companion. A friend. His heart yearns to reach out this beautiful being, to touch, to hold, anything to reassure him that finally, he is no longer alone in this world.

But then the man’s eyes narrow, pain now replaced by unmistakable fury, and it is Hob who rears back now, a deep seated fear he knows but does not remember rising to the surface. 

“A memory demon has taken your mind,” the man growls, his voice suddenly octaves deeper than it had been when he had first greeted Hob. He stands suddenly, and moves to leave the bar.

Absolute terror grips Hob then, and he shouts, “Wait, don’t leave!” before getting up himself to chase the man.

The stranger (his Stranger?) is fast, but Hob manages to catch him just outside the door. He grips the other man’s arm tightly, hoping and praying that somehow he won’t disappear in a puff of smoke.

“Please don’t leave me again,” Hob begs. Again? Hob thinks to himself. Has the stranger left him before?

The man’s expression softens instantly.

“Had my hubris not gotten the better of me,” the Stranger says, all righteous fury gone from his voice, “I would not have allowed this to happen. My imprisonment has taken far more from me than I ever feared.”

Imprisonment?

“You were captured?” Hob breathes, shocked.

“I was,” the Stranger replies. “I did not miss our appointment in 1989 intentionally.”

“I wish I knew what you were talking about,” Hob says, practically in hysterics. “Will you tell me? Everything I’m missing? I…I haven’t been back to London since…”

“I had planned,” the Stranger interrupts him, “to seek the demon who stole your mind.”

“I’ve been without my memories for 20 years now,” Hob replies. “I can go on for a few more days. Just. Stay. Please.”

Something in his tone must appeal to the Stranger, because he sighs and then nods his agreement. 

“Have you a place where we may speak in private?” he asks, and Hob nods. 

“Not too far of a walk from here,” Hob replies, before he realizes he still has a death grip on the Stranger’s arm. He releases it, slowly, still not totally convinced the other won’t disappear if he lets go. When he does not, Hob jerks his head in the direction of his apartment, and then they begin to walk. 

“I guess we could start with names then?” Hob asks. “You, uh, you seemed to know mine. My true name anyways. I’m sorry that I’ve forgotten yours.”

The stranger huffs, and shakes his head, as if recalling a particularly humorous memory. Hob wonders if he’ll hear what it is in their talk tonight.

 “My name,” the man says, voice lowered to almost a purr, “is Dream.”

[blueiscoool]

The Gold Bust of Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius at The Getty

The golden bust of Emperor Marcus Aurelius from Avenches, western Switzerland, is going on display at the Getty. It is the largest known bust of an emperor made of a precious metal and one of only a handful of gold busts to escape being melted down. This Marcus Aurelius bust is so rare and so valuable that is usually kept in a bank vault. The Roman Museum of Avenches keeps a copy on display instead. It has only been exhibited a dozen times, and never before in the United States.

The bust was discovered in 1939 in an excavation of a temple at Avenches’ ancient predecessor, Aventicum. Aventicum was the capital of the Helvetii and was incorporated into the Roman Empire under Augustus in 15 B.C. It was granted colony status by Vespasian in 71/2 A.D. which spurred a major urban redevelopment of the city. A large temple complex inspired by Vespasian’s Templum Pacis in Rome and dedicated to the local gods of the Helvetii and the cult of the emperor was built during this time.

Found in a sewer crossing underneath the main courtyard of the temple complex, the golden bust is 13 inches high and weighs 3.5 lbs, the equivalent of 220 gold aurei from Marcus Aurelius’ time (r. 161-180 AD). It is made from a single sheet of gold that was cold-worked in a repoussé technique. The goldsmith hammered the back of the sheet to create the features of the emperor in three dimensions — a thick head of hair, neat beard, intense eyes. Fine details were incised on to the exterior surface after the repoussé was complete. He wears a lorica plumata, a cuirass decorated with rows of feathers, around a central gorgoneion.

Only about 15 imperial portraits in precious metals and only six of them in gold made it through the gauntlet of being melted for their weight in antiquity. Hollow, portable and requiring a support to stand, this type of portrait was created to be an imago, an effigy of the emperor meant to embody his sacred authority in processions and in temples dedicated to the imperial cult. Marcus Aurelius wrote in a letter in 162/3 A.D. to the curator of the temple at Ephesos that portraits of past emperors should never be altered to look like other emperors (a common practice with marble portraits) or melted down.

“There must be no re-working of the material into likenesses of us. For as we are not in other respects solicitous of honours for ourselves, much less should we permit those of others to be transferred to us. As many of the statues as are in good preservation should be kept under their original names, but with respect to those that are too battered to be identified, perhaps their titles can be recovered from inscriptions on their bases or from records that may exist in the possession of the Council, so that our progenitors may rather receive a renewal of their honour than its extinction through the melting down of their images.”

The bust will be on display at the Getty Villa in Los Angeles from May 31st of this year through January 29th, 2024.

[thefreelanceangel]

"Seeing you like this is a rare treat."

Sweat soaked his hairline, a few streaks cutting through the soot on his face. Tiny black specks marred the leather apron, showing where sparks were flung up from his tapping hammer, and the acrid smells of the Goldsmiths' Guild rose even above the sweat-soaked cotton and leather he wore.

The dull edge of the barrel dug into the back of her thighs, adding another layer of ache on top of everything else she felt. Aetherical healing did quite a bit, but she'd not lingered long enough for them to finish up everything.

He reached up and cupped her face, leather glove hot against her skin, and carefully tipped her jaw up. "Look at me."

C'allie did.

"What happened? And why did you come here? To me?"

"Roronji."

His face hardened immediately. The fingertips against the side of her face tensed, pressing to her flesh, before he caught himself. "Was he going after you specifically?"

"Lyngnagl."

"...did you reach out to Mags?"

She rubbed her bare arms. Ul'dah wasn't known for a particularly cold climate, but the inner city didn't feel the desert sun in the same way. During the day, it became mildly warm. At night, it bordered on frigid if it wasn't on the ground level. Around them, the air felt too cold.

"She's dead," C'allie muttered.

"When?"

"A year back."

His thumb carefully moved over her cheekbone, pushing jagged locks of hair away from her skin. "Roronji?"

"Likely. Kadiar said a mining accident." C'allie's tail carefully moved, curling over her scraped knee. "He doesn't know anything."

"She didn't tell him?"

"No."

"You didn't tell them?"

Faces flicked through her mind. C'allie felt her left ear try to move when she winced, lopping against her hair. "No."

"Anything?"

"No. How could I?" She paused. "They know ... most of everything else. As much as is safe for them to know." She licked her dry lips. "They don't know about you."

He didn't say anything to that. How could he? The last time they'd come face to face, he'd shot her through the abdomen and she'd broken a blade off in his back. Mags and Lyngnagl'd both been alive, and in love. Roronji'd argued half the night about what they should do, only for that argument to spiral into what'd sent them all (bleeding) in separate directions. Who'd want to tell a family about that?

"Lyngnagl dead. Mags dead." He exhaled at last. "That explains why you came to me." C'allie's gaze shifted. His hand on her face exerted gentle pressure. "Look at me."

"If you'd taken this to Kugane," Osric Yar said calmly, "I likely would've helped Roronji hunt you down." His thumb ran lightly across her cheekbone before moving to her hanging ear. "Come. I'll tell the guild master I have a family emergency and we'll start piecing things together. Hm?"

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

The Story of Rumi and the Goldsmith:

Once, a man came to Rumi, distraught and complaining about the hardness of his heart. He felt that the world had made him harsh and unfeeling, and he was unable to find any joy or love within himself. Rumi listened and then told him to visit a goldsmith.

The man was puzzled but did as Rumi advised. He went to the goldsmith and observed him at work. The goldsmith took a piece of hard, unyielding gold and placed it in the fire. The man watched as the gold softened in the intense heat. Then, the goldsmith took it out, placed it on his anvil, and began to hammer it, shaping it into a beautiful piece of jewelry.

After observing this, the man returned to Rumi, who explained, “Like the gold, your heart has become hard. But when it is placed in the fire of trials and difficulties, it becomes soft. It can then be molded and shaped into something beautiful. Do not fear the hardships of the world; let them transform you into someone who can spread kindness and love.

(Rumi and Sufi Community)

[ghostoffuturespast]

So It Goes - Chapter 41: Anarchy

[X]

The hallway exploded. Concussions rippled and wracked the air, followed a millisecond later by the shredding of glass and metal. Shock waves sent stray bits of shrapnel rocketing past to lodge in the carpet while chunks of concrete catapulted in a spray of dust and battered the walls. Screams; the bang of the starting guns. The timer started.

I'm nearing the end of this fic, and, well, no more poems after this. (At least, I don't think...) So, I did something a little special for the occasion. Maybe kinda spoilery if you're reading the fic, but if you've played the game, you already know.

Transcript below the cut if you don't want to listen to me read remixed poetry for 4:20. (ha) Not quite formatted correctly since there aren't any justification settings here and I skipped my playing around with blank space, but you get the drift:

The Sailing Rime of J. Alfred Prufrock and The Ancient Mariner's Love Song to Byzantium

I should have been a pair of ragged claws Scuttling across the floors of silent seas. To ask a question: Would you take a bullet for me? And some in dream assured were Of the Spirit that plagued us so; Nine fathom deep he had followed us From the land of mist and snow. The self-same moment I could pray, And from my neck so free The Albatross fell off, and sank Like lead into the sea. Let us go then, you and I... And would it have been worth it, after all, Would it have been worth while, After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets, After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor- And this, and so much more?- It is impossible to say just what I mean! But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen: Would it have been worth while If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl, And turning toward the window, should say: "That is not it at all, That is not what I meant, at all." No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be; Am an attendant lord, one that will do To swell a progress, start a scene or two, Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool, Deferential, glad to be of use, Politic, cautious, and meticulous; Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse; At times, indeed, almost ridiculous- Almost, at times, the Fool. That is no country for old men. The young In one another's arms, birds in the trees, -Those dying generations- at their song, The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas, Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long Whatever is begotten, born, and dies. Caught in that sensual music all neglect Monuments of unageing intellect. I grow old... I grow old... I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. An aged man is but a paltry thing, A tattered coat upon a stick, unless Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing For every tatter in its mortal dress, Nor is there singing school but studying Monuments of its own magnificence; An therefore I have sailed the seas and come To the holy city of Byzantium. Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach? I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach. I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. O sages standing in God's holy fire As in the gold mosaic of a wall, Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre, And be the singing-masters of my soul. Consume my heart away; sick with desire And fastened to a dying animal It knows not what it is; and gather me Into the artifice of eternity. I do not think that they will sing to me. Once out of nature I shall never take My bodily form from any natural thing, But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make Of hammered gold and gold enamelling To keep a drowsy Emperor awake; Or set upon a golden bough to sing To lords and ladies of Byzantium Of what is past, or passing, or to come. I have seen them riding seaward on the waves Combing the white hair of the waves blown back When the wind blows the water white and black. We have lingered in the chambers of the sea By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot Sailing to Byzantium by William Butler Yeats

[bearvanhelsing]

Tagged by @outeremissary Thank you Emi but omg my name is so long too lmao I cannot promise cringe won't make it on here. Gonna try and do this mostly with my Halloween playlist Jay's Spook Juke because that sounds fun.

Rules: Pick a song for each letter of your URL and tag that many people.

B lue Moon - The Marcels (my family's stupid running gag is we all burst out into this song when someone brings home a 24 pack of Blue Moon beers)

E yes Without a Face - Billy Idol

A ve Satani - Jerry Goldsmith

R emains of the Day - Danny Elfman

V irgin State of Mind - K's Choice

A Forest - The Cure

N osferatu - Blue Oyster Cult

H alloween Theme - John Carpenter

E arth, Wind, Fire and Air - Moon Sisters

L ife at Last - Ray Kennedy

S quare Hammer - Ghost

I t's Terror Time Again - Nate Wants to Battle

N o One Lives Forever - Oingo Boingo

G host of Stephen Foster - Squirrel Nut Zippers

[mkoshi]

once out of nature I shall never take, my bodily form from any natural thing

but such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make, of hammered gold and gold enamelling

to keep a drowsy Emperor awake; or set upon a golden bough to sing

to lords and ladies of Byzantium, of what is past, or passing, or to come.

#MKOSHI highly selective && independent multimuse blog with a heavy focus on female ocs && dynamics. 18+ written by v.

[artifacts-archive]

Pair of earrings

Korea, 6th century

Gold earrings were worn by both men and women of the Silla and Gaya elite and are the most prevalent type of jewelry found in tombs. Goldsmith techniques on display here range from simple hammering to the more complex method of granulation, in which tiny gold beads were adhered to the surface to create intricate designs.

[g-raynard]

The Lake Isle Of Innisfree

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made: Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honeybee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade. And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings; There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings. I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey, I hear it in the deep heart's core.

--W.B. Yeats _______________________

A Deep Sworn Vow

Others because you did not keep That deep-sworn vow have been friends of mine; Yet always when I look death in the face, When I clamber to the heights of sleep, Or when I grow excited with wine, Suddenly I meet your face.

--W.B. Yeats ____________________

Down By the Salley Gardens

Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet; She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet. She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree; But I, being young and foolish, with her would not agree.

In a field by the river my love and I did stand, And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand. She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs; But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.

--W.B. Yeats ________________________

Never Give All The Heart

Never give all the heart, for love Will hardly seem worth thinking of To passionate women if it seem Certain, and they never dream That it fades out from kiss to kiss; For everything that's lovely is But a brief, dreamy, kind delight. O Never give the heart outright, For they, for all smooth lips can say, Have given their hearts up to the play. And who could play it well enough If deaf and dumb and blind with love? He that made this knows all the cost, For he gave all his heart and lost.

― W.B. Yeats __________________________________

Sailing To Byzantium

I

That is no country for old men. The young In one another's arms, birds in the trees--- Those dying generations---at their song, The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas, Fish, flesh, or fowl commend all summer long Whatever is begotten, born, and dies. Caught in that sensual music all neglect Monuments of unaging intellect.

II

An aged man is but a paltry thing, A tattered coat upon a stick, unless Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing For every tatter in its mortal dress, Nor is there singing school but studying Monuments of its own magnificence; And therefore I have sailed the seas and come To the holy city of Byzantium.

III

O sages standing in God's holy fire As in the gold mosaic of a wall, Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre, And be the singing-masters of my soul. Consume my heart away; sick with desire And fastened to a dying animal It knows not what it is; and gather me Into the artifice of eternity.

IV

Once out of nature I shall never take My bodily form from any natural thing, But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make Of hammered gold and gold enamelling To keep a drowsy Emperor awake; Or set upon a golden bough to sing To lords and ladies of Byzantium Of what is past, or passing, or to come.

--W.B. Yeats _____________________________

The Second Coming

Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity. Surely some revelation is at hand; Surely the Second Coming is at hand. The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out When a vast image out of i{Spiritus Mundi} Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert A shape with lion body and the head of a man, A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun, Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds. The darkness drops again; but now I know That twenty centuries of stony sleep Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

--W.B. Yeats

_____________________________

[from The Collected Poems of W.B. Yeats: Definitive Edition, With the Author's Final Revisions, Macmillan (January 1, 1956)]

[djinnhatescold]

FFXIVWrite2024 Prompt #5: Stamp

Little Imanie watched in rapt fascination as the goldsmith turned the silver ring, so tiny compared to his Hrothgar hand, this way and that on his workbench. She felt the heat from his torch as he worked the twisted wires into an intricate filigree within the delicate frame he had created to cradle the center stone.

Satisfied with his work thus far, he reached for a small, narrow rod and a hammer. He set the rod against the inside of the ring and offered the hammer to the child. "Would you like to finish the stamp?" he asked. Nodding enthusiastically, she accepted the tool and allowed him to position it above the rod. "Give it a tap."

She made sure her grip was perfect, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth in her concentration. She tapped the rod once, a tiny ping ringing through the workshop. She looked at the goldsmith with big eyes, seeking approval from the man who had kindly offered to show the young girl how he was finishing this latest piece when her father had brought her with him to place his latest order.

The goldsmith smiled down at her and nodded. "Two more taps ought to do it," he said.

Imanie did as she was instructed, laughing at the sound of the two pings. When he pulled the rod away she saw two tiny birds stamped into the metal -- the goldsmith's personal signature -- and she gasped.

"The little one is only a few years away from an apprenticeship, Hardwin." He winked at her father as he said it.

"The way the little one is going with her school work she'll be called to Sharlayan before she gets the chance," Hardwin said, his chest puffed with pride. "She's meant for things far bigger than you or I, mark my words."